


Dead Terrariums

by Castalle



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2410979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castalle/pseuds/Castalle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two aging villains, one Gotham winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing came up from their interaction during Identity Crisis.

Arthur was in town and Noah insisted that they give the earpieces a rest and meet up. Meeting up meant dinner, then a late night walk, then a room. Now the man was laying back on the bed and Noah tapped his fingers along Arthur's stomach while he tried to rest.

“Must you?” came a drawl from the archer as he brought a hand under his head and shifted with a low sigh.

“You've never complained before.”

“I'm tired. I have to get up early to get in position.”

He chuckled and Arthur gave him a sour look, rolling his eyes. Noah humored him further and scooted up, planting an annoyingly long and sloppy kiss on the other man's cheek. He was rewarded with a glare, annoyance practically boiling off of Arthur in waves. 

“Stop putting on a show, you love it. Not like you ever get laid otherwise.”

“You don't know that.”

“I do. It's an undisputed fact.”

“Noah.”

He knew when to stop pestering, but it was so easy to get under the assassin's skin. He disputed whether or not to continue, wanting to see just how far he could push the man. It wasn't like Arthur would kick him out and despite his pride, the archer knew that Noah was right. Arthur had no partners, no lovers; he had several old flings back when he was younger and starting out – but with his rising reputation and the travel required for jobs, he could never find someone that he didn't have to pay for. Noah could sympathize. With their lifestyle it wasn't easy to fit in pleasurable company, but Arthur took it to heart. Or rather, to ego.

He gave the black haired man a quick, apologetic smile and ran a hand through his hair.

“If something goes wrong tomorrow where should we meet up? I still want to catch lunch before you have to go.”

Arthur paused, glancing at Noah and he could tell instantly that the archer was nervous.

“You're sure Batman is away? Certain?” Arthur asked. 

“Have I ever been wrong before?”

“Come on...”

Noah waved a lazy hand, scooting up closer against Arthur and wrapping an arm around his torso.

“You'll be fine. How long's it been since you were caught?”

Arthur shook his head, trying to recall the date. “...I made a year, it'll be two when March hits. Don't jinx me, this place is swarming with his flock of proteges – it's disgusting. If I get my ass handed to me by a 12 year old I don't think I can recover, I might have to call it quits and retire."

It was Noah's turn to roll his eyes and he gave Arthur a squeeze, looking across the man's chest to the small window at the opposite side of the room. Thick snowfall was blanketing the city, but even with the wall of white, neon signs cast a colorful glow that was visible from the cheap motel. Noah ran his hand through Arthur's hair slowly again and the archer tolerated it, which was the best that he could ask for. He pulled the covers up over them both, starting to cool down from sex; even with body heat it was freezing in the room, and with sweat starting to dry it only got colder.

“It'll be fine...” he reinforced, rubbing the back of Arthur's neck gently, “If something happens I'll just call Floyd, he'll stir the pot with Waller and you'll be out in a month. Don't wor-- Are you listening to me?”

Noah looked at the man and grunted; Arthur was fast asleep and he knew better than to wake him. After all, he wasn't the one who had to evade the authorities by foot. He waited a few more minutes, basking in the heat generated by their bodies before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing. Noah curled his toes as soon as they hit the cold carpet, and he quickly pulled his clothes on. Arthur followed a strict diet plan but Noah didn't, and take-out was just down the street.

 

In the morning Arthur was gone, his clothes from last night folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Noah took his time, laying in bed and loathing that he was going to have to once more leave the warm confines of the scratchy motel sheets. Gotham's winters were brutal, and he hoped that whichever Bat-brood was leaping from building to building would feel less obligated to go chasing assassins because of it. Arthur hated working during the day but his target was rarely out in public, he had to take the chance.

 

It was Noah's turn to be nervous. For all of his talk he knew that Arthur would never be late without reason. He leaned against a wooden post on the dock, flanked by colossal cargo ships and freezing dark water. Ice accumulated on the thick ropes and rigging hanging off of the sides of the boats, and Noah worried that the power lines were next. 

A soft whistle caught his attention and Arthur emerged from a nearby alleyway that sliced between two storage buildings. The man jogged over, boots clapping down on the freezing pavement. He knew that Arthur carried a specific number of arrows in his quiver, and Noah did a quick count – two were missing.

“What's wrong with regular clothes? The whole city is covered in white and you dress in all black.”

“Well if you want to sew me a white costume, please, I have my measurements.”

“I know your measurements.”

Arthur took Noah's wrist, squeezing it as he stood close to him. The man was freezing and Noah thought to give him his coat but he knew the archer would turn him down. The man balanced on the edge of being just a little too proud for his own good. He'd beaten Arrow multiple times, he was one of the best; 20 years ago he was the best. Noah brushed some frost out of Arthur's hair and gave him a tepid smile, prompting the other to speak.

“So lunch or what?”

“Lunch or nothing until you're out of costume. Don't you have regular clothes that aren't black?”

“What's wrong with black? It's Gotham, everyone wears black. The florists wear black. I don't stick out here like I do back home.”

The two began to walk, Arthur keeping his hand around Noah's wrist lightly as they approached the alleyway.

“Where is 'home' anyway? You haven't told me since-”

“Since they trashed my last place?” the assassin muttered bitterly. “I'm mobile now.”

“As in your car.”

Arthur snorted, waving it off. “I'm tired of having to buy new furniture every three years or so. It's easier this way, besides, it's a nice car.”

“Your black car, with the black interior, black steering wheel, black hood ornament...”

“Would you prefer the Arrowcar? I don't hear this kind of criticism directed at Batman or Luthor.”

“Batman is Batman, and Luthor only uses green because it's the color of Kryptonite.”

“That doesn't justify bad taste.”

Noah sighed dramatically and Arthur got the picture, releasing his wrist and holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. They walked in silence for a while longer until the sound of cars grew audible, accompanied by wailing sirens. 

“That's my stage cue.” the archer said, “Do you still want...”

“Lunch, yes. Listen, you know where my place is, right? Come by, stay with me for a while. Just until you find a spot that isn't the backseat of your car.”

“Noah...” Arthur's voice had a tone and Noah quickly shook his head to stop the other from continuing.

“Just for a little while, I promise! Come on, I know you've got your whole collection of Green Arrow memorabilia in the trunk, and that you're dying to hang it up again.”

“They're not 'memorabilia', they're trophies, they're important.”

Noah gave him a few conciliatory pats on the chest, “Ok boy-o, I know. Trophies. I'm sorry. Just get changed and come by, I'll open the door for you.”

Arthur snorted and grumbled, turning and starting to jog down the alleyway, leaping up to grab on to the bottom rung of a fire escape ladder. He lifted himself up easily and ascended, foot after foot until he was on the roof and out of sight. Noah watched him, feeling a twinge of jealousy directed at the athleticism Arthur was still capable of at his age. Never without a toll of course, he reminded himself as he began to walk back towards the street. 

He hailed a cab, watching his breath puff out in the freezing air and fade away quickly. Once one of the dingy yellow cars pulled up to the corner, he was quick to get in and slam the door shut. As the car took off, kicking up dirty gray slush behind its tires, Noah cast his eyes to the passing rooftops, pulling his coat closer around him in the cold.


	2. Chapter 2

“What a dump!” Arthur exclaimed, nose scrunching up in distaste at the apartment presented to him. 

“You are an astounding prude. I'm amazed you were able to survive anywhere that wasn't the Hilton.”

Noah crossed his arms and endured the long, slow glare from Arthur until the black haired man finally gave up and walked inside. Rows of glowing monitors and screens lit up the back room that was down the hallway, but the room that Arthur was shown into was nearly pitch black. Noah searched about for a light switch, flipping on a dim bulb that gave the men just enough pale light to find their way.

Heavy suitcases smacked the cheap linoleum flooring and Arthur stretched his arms upward, grimacing as he felt a few bits of snow fall down his high collar. Noah brushed off snow from his own shoulders and pulled off his jacket, laying it across the back of a chair and wandering off towards the kitchen counter. He glanced back at Arthur every couple of seconds, watching the taller man feel the fabric of the couch under his fingers. The threadbare furnishing was practically falling apart, the bottom having collapsed and created a dip in the center.

“I'll have that changed right away, your Highness.” Noah said, doing a grandiose bow.

“You invite me to your home and now you're mocking me? I can just as easily sleep in the car, Noah, the seats probably cost more than this sloppy penthouse...”

“That is precisely the reason I give you a hard time. All you do is complain.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and removed the long scarf and coat, folding them both and setting them over the couch. 

“Your stinging barbs pierce me deep, Noah. Your aim is almost as good as mine.”

Noah grinned, muttering something under his breath as he set on a fresh pot of coffee. Arthur began to wander around the small apartment, checking the bathroom and slamming the door shut after a quick look around. 

“I see someone is a fan of moldy grout lines.” the archer muttered.

Noah rolled his eyes and ignored the middle aged temper tantrum going on down the hall, he knew the man would throw a fit. In his experience however it never lasted long, the archer would come around by the end of the night. His train of thought was broken when he heard a laugh, which surprised Noah enough to draw him out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

Arthur had reached the bedroom, hand still on the knob as he stood in the doorway. Noah leaned against the peeling wallpaper and fixed his glasses, squinting in the dark.

“I see you've reached the presidential suite. Well by all means, make yourself comfortable.”

Arthur snorted, turning on the light and looking around with an expression of malaise. He set his hands on the sheets and pillows, then sat down on the bed, sighing. The cacophony of squeaks that the bed emitted drowned out his slow exhale. 

“Do you actually do all of your work here?” he called down the hallway.

Noah shook his head. “No, the setup here is in case the other place is compromised. Don't worry Arthur, I don't shit where I eat.”

“Fooled me.”

~~~

The two men found themselves on the ratty couch for the rest of the night, watching the news coverage of the earlier assassination. The archer had the ugliest of grins plastered on his face when they showed an image of him and began a ten minute expose on his criminal history. The picture that floated beside the newscaster was from a few years ago, taken after an arrest. His front and profile view was shown, followed by grainy videos taken by bystanders and security cameras. Noah hadn't noticed the man's change over the years but now with a younger version presented he could see the changes. Gray hairs were beginning to appear on his sideburns, and his face had hardened even further. Additional lines traced down his cheeks and under his eyes, and his nose seemed a bit more crooked.

“God that was a great shot – look at how fast I strung, look, the camera didn't even catch it!” 

Noah glanced up from the tabloid he had flipped open, then over at Arthur.

“Am I going to be putting up with this all night?”

Arthur said nothing, attention drawn entirely to the television screen. Noah rolled his eyes, setting the magazine aside and watching along with the other man. He glanced over at the archer when the topic of conversation went to Green Arrow, and he could see the quick flicker of Arthur's expression. Noah looked back and forth between the television and the older man's face a few times before clearing his throat.

“What are you thinking about? You're not getting bent out of shape because he's on TV are you?”

The archer shook his head, leaning back and crossing his arms and legs, foot bouncing up and down as he furrowed his brows.

“Considering my retirement. I knew this was coming but I figure I have another year or two left, but when I go I want to go being the undisputed best.”

“As in, taking out Green Arrow? You're not serious.”

Arthur scoffed, turning to face Noah completely. “What's the point of retiring if I just fade away? I'm better than him, he's only beaten me because he has funding and a superhuman posse.”

“Your grudge – sorry – rivalry, has never gotten you anywhere. You blew up half of Star City, so what? He rebounded and lived to shoot arrows another day. You can't win, Arthur. None of us can on our own when they have the whole League on their side.” Noah gave the man a knowing look and Arthur seemed to contemplate his words for a few moments before speaking again.

“If I'm going to end my career I want people to remember it.” he said finally.

“Normally you're smarter than this. A pissing contest isn't the best way to end a pretty successful career. You're alive, healthy, mentally sound, more than most guys like us can ask for at your age.”

“But-”

“But what? You ought to just get down on one knee and propose to him, you're obsessed. You still have the arrow he shot you with!” There was no concern in his tone, only annoyance with the man's stubbornness. 

Arthur was glaring at him now but Noah had stood before much worse than a sour friend with benefits. The black haired man relented as soon as he knew that his cold expression was getting him nowhere, sighing in annoyance and uncrossing his arms, slumping down into the lumpy couch.

“You're really cute when you're all pouty.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not with that attitude.”

Noah felt the air lift as Arthur failed to stop the edges of his lips from twitching into a smile. He looked back to the television and noticed the talk of Green Arrow had shifted to sports updates. Arthur stood and stretched. Vertebrae popped softly, the sounds partially muffled under the heavy black sweater he wore. Noah stood as well, and Arthur stepped over to him, fixing his collar.

“You're right. But I want you to find me some good jobs, out of the way of the League's normal territory, overseas maybe. I have enough to retire but I want to retire in style.” the archer's gaze shifted away from Noah's wrinkled shirt to meet the man's eyes directly. 

“That won't be hard. I hope you're not expecting all this pro bono, though.”

“You have access to my account, take the money out yourself – or shall we take a walk down to the nearest ATM?”

“I'll worry about it tomorrow.” Noah ran a hand through his own hair, removing his glasses and yawning deeply. Arthur wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him along, leaving the TV on to drone on as he led Noah down the hall and to the bedroom. He separated from the taller man and went to his small closet, sliding the suspenders off of his shoulders and starting to change. Arthur sat down on the bed, removing his shoes and sweater.

“When are you planning on giving it up?”

Noah looked over, arms still in the sleeves of his shirt. “What?”

“Retiring. Don't you have plans? You make enough to call it quits whenever you feel like.”

The bespectacled man blinked, wandering off in thought as his hands attempted to fold his shirt while his mind was elsewhere. He shrugged after a moment, setting the shirt away and heading over to the bed, where Arthur had already slithered under the covers and scooted to one side.

“Never thought about it too much. The setup I have has worked well for me so far, I figure why quit when I have a good thing going.”

“Don't want to join me?”

“Wouldn't catch me dead retiring in England.”

Arthur snorted, lifting the covers up as Noah got in beside him, setting them over the man as he scooted up close to him. 

“Your loss – think of the history, the culture.”

“The rain. The people. The lack of anything even coming close to being exciting. No wait – let me guess, your idea of a romantic evening out is us going to a renaissance fair and you embarrassing me in public by getting mad at historical inaccuracies. Sounds lovely.”

Arthur stared at him, raising an eyebrow and taking a few seconds' pause to respond. “Well, I just thought it would be nice. Who's the one getting bent out of shape now?”

Noah reached over to the nightstand, turning off the small lamp. All the light that was left was the dim flickering of the television down the hallway. A pair of arms pulled him closer and he felt the warm breath on his neck as Arthur spoke.

“I'll send you postcards while you're freezing your ass off in Gotham this time next year, and warm weather isn't the only thing you'll be missing.”

“As corny as ever.”

Arthur squeezed him a little tighter then loosened his grip, and Noah could hear the change in his breathing after a few minutes. He sighed in the silence, staring up at the blackness as he crossed his arms over his chest, considering Arthur's earlier words. No doubt he had made a name for himself – but there was always the nagging presence of Oracle. For the smart professional criminal, picking fights with the adversary who had bested you multiple times in the past usually never lead to a good outcome. Despite his advice to Arthur however he could feel the sudden chill of realization of how unforgiving the future was going to be to all of them. 

He found himself restless suddenly – he wasn't one to panic without reason, but the older professionals he'd worked with were all slowly dropping off the radar, one by one. Small names and even a few big ones, succumbing to age or finally losing their lucky streak. He knew it couldn't last forever, but thinking about working with a younger generation, without Arthur or Cheval, it wasn't going to be the comfortable routine they'd grown to be experts in. Maybe it was time to start consider slipping away and disappearing.

Noah shook his head, ridiculous, he thought. Arthur had his reasons, valid ones, his job was physically demanding and he couldn't continue to perform at an adequate level as he got older. Noah didn't need to run away from crime fighters or jump from building to building. He'd been doing it for so long, they all had, that to think about life without it was almost impossible. Still, somehow Arthur could do it, but Noah got the feeling he'd been growing weary of it for a while now. 

He tossed the thoughts aside as he turned to lay on his side, his back to Arthur. He would retire one day, eventually, but Oracle would have to be cold, dead and buried before he would even consider it.

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to my beta reader.


End file.
